


Even Were I Blind

by WickedWiles



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aether Sex (Final Fantasy XIV), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Playing With the Idea of Shards, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, as always
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22699915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedWiles/pseuds/WickedWiles
Summary: I know you. Even were I blind, I would know who you are.An exploration of a bond never severed, even in souls fragmented.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 104





	1. Shattered Reflections

The first time he sees her, it stops him in his tracks.

Someone bumps into him from behind, but he barely notices the contact or the muttered complaint.

Her figure is still somewhat distant, crossing through the gates with the Exarch at her side. Too far away to make out detailed features, though he can see the massive sword on her back from here, the bulk of the dark metal armor on her slight frame, the shock of white hair ruffling with the breeze. Blue-black scales glint in the interminable light, framing her face as she looks upwards towards the tower that pierces the heavens. Drahn, and an adventurer by the look of it. Mayhap another bounty hunter, though the distinctly nervous energy to the Exarch’s steps as they continue into the city makes him doubt that. This is someone different. Someone special.

They pass under the balcony, pausing to speak near the Aetheryte, and he turns to watch as they continue on towards the Tower. The confident stride that’s almost a swagger, the slow lashing of her tail; it’s all strangely familiar, like a half-forgotten memory. In his mind’s eye, he can imagine the curve of her lips, the way her fiery eyes light up when she smiles.

But he’s never seen this woman before in his life.

Has he?

The uncertainty trails after him for hours.

*****

The first time she sees him, it stops her in her tracks.

After a frustrating afternoon of sight-seeing and delays, she finally has the information she wanted from the beginning. Her lost comrades are slowly coming within reach, and she quickens her pace as she weaves through the crowds of the Crystalline Mean, homing in on the nearby Amaro Launch.

The scent finds her first; the barest hint in the air of something earthy and sweet that brings to mind cold winds and crackling hearths. Unbidden the flashes of memory rise from the depths of warm blue pools framed by unkempt silver, sparkling with untold mischief.

She pushes the thoughts back, back into the darkness where they belong, cold fury taking their place. Her eyes dart amongst the various craftsmen plying their trades, seeking out that which _dared-_

The Elezen man – no, an Elf here – is straightening up as he deposits the large crate next to some others, turning to speak to the craftswoman that addresses him. A light sheen of sweat is apparent on the well-defined strength of his arms, accentuated by the sleeveless tunic. Rich green hair hangs loosely over his shoulders, brushed away from his eyes with an absent gesture that threatens to overwhelm her, the disconcerting rush of déjà vu an almost palpable force.

The crowds flow around her where she stands frozen like a statue amidst the bustle of their lives.

She can’t see the color of his eyes, but she can see in her mind how they shine, looking across a table at her. Wisps of steam wafting from the mug as he lifts it to his mouth. Those lips curling into a smile both shy and oh so wicked, traces of dark liquid clinging to them.

_How similar it looks to the ominous stain of crimson as he made his final, gentle plea…_

She turns abruptly, resuming her course for the Launch. She cannot, _will not_ be undone by this…this…paltry coincidence. This man has nothing to do with her, nothing to do with _him_.

The darkness within roils as she takes to the skies, the Crystarium dwindling in the distance behind her.

*****

The second time, they see each other.

Just for a moment, crossing the open plaza in front of the Tower, their eyes meet. She’s with one of the young elves, making her way towards the steps that lead towards the imposing gates of the Tower. He’s coming back from the markets, arms laden with the materials Iola ordered.

The world slows, almost stops as they pass within only a few fulms of each other.

Her eyes are full of flame, as he knew they would be. She doesn’t turn her head towards him, but her gaze slides to the side to hold his until the last possible moment.

Reality snaps back to its accustomed pace, and she’s gone from his sight. He’s halfway to the stairs to the Crystalline Mean before he realizes he’s been holding his breath. The urge to stop, to look back is strong, but he presses on. Those that have business with the Exarch were unlikely to give someone like him a second thought.

The press of the crowd thins out close to the stairs, and he pauses to adjust his burden. Lighter than the last time, but even with business being slow, Iola always seems to find no end of things she needs-

“You.”

He doesn’t have to look to know who it is; the hairs on the back of his neck rise as his heartbeat stutters inexplicably.

He’s never heard this voice before.

_He’s heard it all his life._

Turning slowly as not to upset the delicate balance of the stacked packages, he meets her gaze again. There’s no sign of the young elf now, just her, standing with arms folded, staring him down with a look that would wilt even the most hardened warriors.

It’s breathtaking.

She searches his face for a long moment before letting her eyes roam over the rest of him briefly. There’s a flash of something akin to doubt in the way her brow furrows.

“A blacksmith…?”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “I have not the gift for the craftsman’s art, my lady; I serve the Crystarium with blade and shield. But the mistress of the Iron Bellows is an old friend, and I do what I can to assist her when my services are not required elsewhere.”

Her stance relaxes slightly, though a frown still tugs at her lips.

“Who _are_ you?”

“Chevaliorne, at your service, my lady.” He nods over the top of the packages and flashes what he hopes is a winning smile. “I would offer a proper greeting, but I fear present circumstances find my hands somewhat tied.”

“So it would seem.” She arches a brow at him, and he swears for a moment there’s a spark of amusement dancing in the depths of her gaze. “I…”

The hesitation is strangely out of place in her demeanor, as if she struggles with some inner turmoil.

After a moment, she shakes her head, fixing him with a piercing look.

“I have a meeting to attend.”

He nods; this interlude, strange and brief as it has been, was more than he ever expected. He tries to muster a proper farewell, but she continues before he can assemble the words.

“Two bells. The Wandering Stairs?”

It’s a statement as much as it is a question, and he finds himself nodding again before the invitation suddenly catches up to him, sending his mind reeling. She’s already turning on her heel to walk away.

“Wait!” He tries to start after her, but the sudden movement causes his burdens to sway precariously, forcing him to be still.

She pauses, glancing back over her shoulder.

“I…whom do I have the pleasure of looking forward to meeting once more?”

Lips curve upward now, just slightly.

“Vieryne.”

She’s gone again, though it’s easy enough to mark her passing through the crowd; her stature might be rather smaller than most, but her presence tends to make people step aside as she moves.

His heartbeat races long after he loses sight of her, unable to settle for reasons he can't begin to comprehend. For the first time, he looks to the horizon, and sees something unthinkable.

_Hope._

*****

_This is stupid._

Fingers drumming absently against the side of her drink, Vieryne scowls down at the liquid remaining within. It’s still a good half-bell before the time she declared they would meet, but pacing the city or her room in the Pendants any longer seemed pointless.

She doesn’t have time for this sort of distraction; she has Alisaie back, hale and whole, but she needs to find Alphinaud and the rest of her comrades so that they may save this forsaken Shard as quickly as possible. Despite the Exarch’s reassurances about time between their worlds lining up, she can’t help but wonder how the tide of battle turns on the Source.

There is still a reckoning due, debts of blood to be paid. She _will_ hunt them all down, every last one of those masked bastards will _crumble_ before her-

Her knuckles are going white around the metal tankard, and when she finally takes a deep breath, the darkness reluctantly receding, she’s left slight dents in the side.

She sighs heavily. It would be best to stop indulging this foolishness, cease chasing figments of her imagination now before it went any further. There will be naught but pain for her down this road, and she has no right to drag this stranger along with her.

_But he isn’t a stranger at all, is he?_

Not when every move he made, every word past his lips sparked a sense of recognition, a fleeting glimpse of something she never thought to see again. It’s an unsettling sensation that she’s never encountered before.

_That’s a lie and you know it. It was the same then, coming in from the cold of Coerthas. Your heart was always cast in silver and blue; it just took seeing him to understand it._

So why did it now tremble in the presence of viridian and sable?

No, the best thing to do was simply to leave. She could easily make it to Kholusia today; it was not as if she had to worry about nightfall hindering her journey. And sleep was not likely to find her anytime soon.

She resolves to stand up, to walk away, but in the back of her mind she already knows it to be too late. She can feel his approach before she looks up, the wide, welcoming smile he offers tearing open yet another long-healed wound with its familiarity.

And Twelve preserve her; ever so faint as it is, the man still carries the scent of chocolate.


	2. Shattered Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little drinking, a little hope, a lot of angst.

How many bells has it been? Maybe one, or maybe ten; Chevaliorne really can’t say. Between the drinks and the lightness in his heart, keeping track of something as trivial as time has fallen by the wayside. His perception of the universe encompasses nothing more than the woman sitting next to him, her posture relaxed but still commanding, half-turned to face him in her chair.

Everything about her is exactly as he was sure it would be, from her laughter to the way she wrinkles her nose slightly every time she takes too large a mouthful of the potent spirits. How she looks up at him through her lashes as her lips curve up into a smirk, chin resting on her hand. The only thing that strikes him as out of place is the occasional darkness in her eyes, a deep grief that’s hidden away again as soon as it appears.

For all the talking they’ve been doing, he knows surprisingly little about her past; she keeps dancing around his questions, drawing him into stories about himself rather than spinning any of her own. He is persistent, however, and soon enough coaxes a tale or two into the light.

“Splendid, absolutely splendid.” He drains the last of his tankard, chuckling softly. “I knew you were an adventurer the moment I laid eyes on you.”

She huffs, bemused, matching him in finishing her own drink. “I suppose the sword that’s taller than I am probably gives it away.”

“Ah, even without the armor or weapons, my friend, that figure of yours betrays you in an instant.” He pats her arm in what he means to be a friendly gesture, though it’s hard to keep his fingertips from lingering, feeling the toned muscle through thin fabric of her sleeve. “Only one who has shed sweat and blood in such heroic trials as you have could achieve such a beautiful form.”

Her brow arches as she smirks at him again. “And here you have not even seen me in action yet. I don’t suppose you have any comrades you would like to see me duel? Show off my…’form’ a bit?”

“None come to mind at present, but if you feel the need to put your skills to the test, full glad would I be to offer myself for your use.”

He barely notices Glynard rolling his eyes dramatically at him as he refills both their tankards, but his cheeks flare with a slight heat nonetheless.

Vieryne stares at him blankly for a moment before she laughs, bright notes falling around them like warm, soothing rain. She looks back down at her drink, smiling, and he’s not entirely sure if her words are meant for him, as she murmurs so softly, he can barely catch it.

“And next time we meet I’ve no doubt you shall wish to see my ‘development’…by the Twelve, I missed this…”

Once more that shadow flits across her features, a pain that’s almost palpable in the air for a heartbeat. He knows, with unsettling certainty, that it has something to do with him, though he cannot begin to say why.

The urge to reach out – to hold, to comfort – is too much to bear, and his hands are moving of their own accord. The backs of his fingers brush against her horn as he cups her cheek, and her breath catches as her eyes dart to meet his.

“My friend. If there is aught I have done to cause you distress, allow me to throw myself upon your forgiveness. Whatever the wrong, there is no length I will not traverse to see it made right.”

She leans forward, and for a brief, dizzying moment he dares to hope – but she stops just ilms away, her fingers sliding over his, sending a shiver through him.

“’Tis not…not you.” Her touch is warm, and more intoxicating than the drink, even as she gently moves his hand away. “Some wrongs cannot be redressed.”

She stands abruptly, draining her tankard with impressive speed before setting it down roughly on the table, the metallic clang startling several nearby patrons. Her lips part as if she would speak again, but instead she turns sharply, and he is left with the echo of her brisk footsteps as her only farewell.

He finishes his own drink slowly, ignoring the curious glances and low murmuring around him. The hurt echoes as a dull ache in his chest, and he is unsure of whether it comes from his own pride or merely a reflection of the anguish in her voice.

The ghost of her touch still lingers on his skin long into the unyielding brightness of the night.

*****

_Coward._

Her fists clench as the door slams behind her. The room is too bright, too clean, too… _nice_. Stalking over to the table, she swats one of the carefully filled baskets onto the floor, watching the bright fruit spin off in different directions.

It’s childish and petulant, and she finds no relief in it.

_You run like a child from the truth as well, ‘tis only fitting you continue to act like one._

She snarls silently, fingers digging into the polished wood, leaving slight grooves behind.

She wastes her time with this nonsense, as she thought from the start. It isn’t him.

_It is. It can't be, but it is._

He is gone, lost beneath icy ground and biting snows. She has naught but phantoms, ghosts of what few moments they had together. She did not carry them with her still only to betray it all at the slightest hint of something familiar.

_Do you really believe he would see it as such?_

She screams her frustration, hurling one of the unopened bottles across the room. It shatters, the dark wine within dripping down the wall slowly. Crimson splatters on the honed edge of her sword where it leans next to the rest of her armor. She sinks down onto the floor, breathing hard, still gripping the edge of the table.

It matters not. None of it matters. She has a job to do, as always.

The Warrior of Light comes first, as always.

Her sobs are quiet, unheard, and no trace remains when she leaves the Pendants, head held high, the very picture of a hero.

As always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't going to be a separate chapter, but I got to the last couple words and it just...felt like a good place to stop? xD
> 
> Apologies for the shortness, more to come soon!


	3. Freeze and Thaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A celebration, and a defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Warrior of Light could be confused for a certain famous river, and has more mixed signals than a traffic light during a power outage.

When night returns to Lakeland, he knows it’s her.

He’s on the road back to the Crystarium with the refugees from Holminster Switch and the rest of the guard when it begins. It’s slow at first, stray patches of the sky darkening subtly, as if the Light thins in places. The more it spreads the faster it becomes, like ice melting away in the spring, and soon they are left staring up in awe at the vast, sunless sea.

A mix of wonder and panic spreads through civilian and soldier alike; the darkness around them, as welcome as it may be, is all but impenetrable to eyes that have never known it.

But the fear that tightens Chevaliorne’s chest has little to do with the dark itself, and more with its origin. All too well he remembers the legends and the dangers of the Lightwardens, having been raised on the same stories as so many others.

If she struck the killing blow…

It takes a great effort to keep his calm, to assist in allaying the agitation of others despite his desire to turn and run back towards the gates of the small town.

Those gifted in the manipulation of aether call forth spells of light they never thought to find a use for, and by the time their small processions crosses into the Crystarium, an air of jubilation prevails.

Many rush off to celebrate, or speculate, or simply just to find a place to stand and stare upwards. He lingers near the gate, eyes straining for any trace of movement in the shadows.

It would have to have been her doing; even without the certainty he feels to his very core, naught else made sense. He’d heard the orders relayed. Only the Captain, the Exarch, and his mysterious friends were a part of the counter assault against the Eaters in the town. If the Exarch was capable of safely felling a Lightwarden, he had no doubt the man would have done so long before now. Lyna, for all her skill and courage, was no less susceptible to the Light than any of the rest of them. The young elf and her brother he was less certain of, but still he could not believe they would have waited this long to act, were they able.

It had to have been Vieryne.

A shout goes up from the other guards at the gate, snapping him from his thoughts. There’s still not much light save the slight glow from the Tower itself, but he can see the sheen of pale hair against the silhouette of a large sword hilt, coming ever closer, flanked by other familiar forms.

The warmth of relief washes over him, accompanied by no small amount of fatigue. He’d not seen her since she‘d walked away from the Wandering Stairs, several days ago at least, and he was suddenly aware of just how _tense_ her absence made him.

Strange that a woman he’d known for less than a week should have such a profound effect on him. It brought to mind stories he’d been told as a child, elvish histories that were little more than fantasies at this point. Not in living memory had there been any who had found their–

He loses sight of her as her small group enters the city, swallowed by the excitement of the crowds. Attempts to push his way through prove fruitless, and he surrenders, allowing himself to be swept up by the energy of it all.

Long bells pass by, and while many still carouse in various parts of the city, he finds himself wandering through less populated corners. The gardens behind the Pendants are empty and still; few seek their beds, but the celebrations are mindful enough to lend some peace to those who do.

He is not surprised to see the large sword against the trunk of an ornamental willow tree; aimless as his steps have been, he knew where his path would always lead. Dark metal glints from discarded gloves and pauldrons nearby.

She doesn’t turn her head to look at him, face tilted up towards the sky as she sits in the tree’s shadow. 

He sits down slowly, leaving what he hopes is a respectful distance between them; as small as the trunk is, it places them little more than a fulm apart, but she makes no move to leave or rebuke his presence. He leans his own head back against the rough bark, running his fingertips over the cool grass.

The stars dance through the lazily swaying leaves above them.

The first brush against his hand he almost mistakes for a stray blade of grass, but the warmth that spreads over his skin is thrillingly familiar. He catches himself holding his breath as she rests her hand over his lightly, almost as if waiting for him to pull away.

He turns his wrist carefully, bringing his palm face-up to meet hers, not wanting to break the contact for even a moment.

A painfully long heartbeat passes, and she laces her fingers between his.

No words are spoken, and their eyes never stray from the sky even when exhaustion finally closes them.

Gradually the shadows lift from stone, grass, skin; from hands still clasped in the new, gentle light of dawn.

*****

“Might I ask you something, my friend?”

Vieryne glances at him sideways, smiling a little. “In light of the fact that you already have, I suppose ‘tis a bit late to refuse.”

There’s a slight hint of color high on his cheeks as he chuckles sheepishly in response. It has been a strange dance between the two of them as of late; one of her own making, that much she can admit. She can sense his desire to be closer, but she cannot allow herself any more than the tentative camaraderie they’ve established thus far.

She had tried just avoiding the Crystarium at first, after she returned with Alphinaud from Kholusia. For all its differences, the First had one thing that was all too similar to the Source; no end of people willing to flag down a passing adventurer and foist their troubles onto her shoulders.

For once, she had been glad of it.

But the longer she stayed away, waiting for word that the twins had found their next move, the more restless she felt. Discontent chafed at the edges of her thoughts, and it was no more than a few suns – or at least what passed as such here – before it became unbearable. She’d only just set foot in the Tower again when the word of the Lightwarden’s attack came, and when he found her afterwards, beneath the night sky, well…

She can indulge this much, but no more.

“Are you…well?”

The question gives her pause, and she tilts her head to the side, considering as she watches Lyna running her latest recruits through another drill. Sitting on the fence around the training grounds brings her even with his height for once, or would, if he were to straighten from where he leans against it.

“Well enough, I suppose. Dare I ask what prompts such concern? Did I stumble when I was so thoroughly besting you in training yesterday?”

“Nay, you were as splendid as ever, though I might contest your version of the outcome.” She can hear the smile in his voice, feel the way he glances up at her as a hint of mischief creeps into his tone. “Perhaps a rematch is in order…something to inspire our new forces?”

“Do you believe you will perform better with an audience, Val?” She lets her eyes slide over to his face as she smirks. “I would hate to ruin your reputation in front of all your comrades.”

Chuckling lightly, Chevaliorne pushes himself off of the fence, drawing his blade and spinning it deftly.

“I fear my reputation as something of an exhibitionist already precedes me. Come now, let us show them how magnificent you look while working up an honest sweat.”

She rolls her eyes with pointed exaggeration. “You are _impossible_.” Still, she can’t resist smiling as she hops down, hefting her sword with practiced ease. “Just for that, you deserve everything that’s coming to you, and I’ll not hold back just because I already thrashed you recently.”

“As long as it’s coming from _you_ , my friend, I can take it all day.”

The only answer to that is her blade slicing through the air, glancing off his shield as he dances backward, laughing.

It doesn’t take long for them to draw the attention he desired; out of the corner of her eye she can see the other guards pause in their own sparring, a line of intrigued spectators forming along the fence. He’s doing well enough at holding his own, having learned quickly not to underestimate her speed, and perhaps they’re both being a bit…flashier than necessary.

Their swords lock for a moment, and his smile fades.

“You seem…changed.”

She blinks at his soft statement before she powers through the lock, forcing him to spin to the side as the tip of her sword digs into the packed earth.

“Since you returned from Il Mheg. Something is different.” His voice is quiet as he moves around behind her, and she stiffens slightly, bringing her arm up to block his attempt to slam his shield into her back.

“How odd of you to say. I still looked like me when I checked this morning.” She keeps her tone light, but his words send a chill down her spine. Whipping her sword around, she forces him to leap away. Room to breathe, but she finds little comfort in it.

“’Tis nothing about your form, my friend. Much deeper than that.” He circles around, looking for another opening. “I can feel it within you; subtle, but there nonetheless.”

“I’ll thank you to keep your feelings out of me, Val,” she growls softly. This has suddenly ceased to be an amusing game, his words treading dangerously close to places she has no desire to visit.

“I cannot.” He darts forward, ducking under her swing to check her midsection with the shield, driving the breath from her lungs momentarily. “I thought the old tales merely amusement for children, but the proof is here before me.” He drops his weapons and catches her arm, holding her tight before she can regain her stance, his other hand gripping the back of her neck.

For a dizzying moment she can almost feel frigid air whipping around her, hear snow crunching under her feet, feel the rush of exhilaration overwhelming her pride. The first time he’d won a match, pressing her against the cold stone, blue eyes sparkling, the visible puffs of their breath merging as he leaned forward–

“You are my…” He hesitates a moment before choosing a word in his own language. Her Echo struggles with the translation, and the best she can take away from it is ‘fated shadow’. “The one to whom I am bound. I know not if Drahn speak of similar things.”

His warm sable eyes shine with a painfully familiar resolve.

 _At least one of you has the stones to admit the truth_.

She twists her arm out of his hold, and within moments has him on the ground, the tip of her blade hovering over his neck, her breathing heavy with restrained rage.

“…some do.” The levelness of her own voice surprises her. “I did.” She steps backwards, returning her weapon to its place on her back.

“I _buried_ any such notions a long time ago. I suggest you do the same.”

Once again, she finds herself stalking away from him, her eyes stinging. Once again, the darkness within rouses, mocking her.

_Coward._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out, we're in *hand-holding* territory.
> 
> I gotta stop finishing these at the end of the day; not a lot of time to read over for mistakes, so if you see any glaring ones let me know!


	4. Washed Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain washes everything clean; slates, souls, blades.
> 
> And just occasionally, it leaves behind second chances.

The monotonous drumming of the rain is the first thing to greet her as her senses fade back from the hazy edge of sleep.

The windows are still ajar, just as she prefers to leave them, and she sighs heavily at the darkened clouds. Still night, by the look of it. Stretching her arms languidly towards the ceiling, she takes a moment to turn her hands this way and that, giving them a cursory inspection.

A light inside her, as Ardbert put it. Well, that was nothing new, despite whatever changes Y’shtola and…others might claim to sense. She certainly feels no difference in herself.

She waits for a contradiction that doesn’t come.

A faint cry penetrates the curtain of rain before she can think on it further, something distant and inhuman. She sits up with a start, fingers reaching to curl around the hilt of her sword. Now that she’s fully aware, the vibrations of many other voices, closer and more familiar, go tingling through her horns, carrying various shades of fear or urgency.

No rest for saints or sinners alike, it seems.

The contraption hums to life as she lifts the last lever into place, the shimmering barrier stretching for the obscured heavens. She takes but a moment to wipe the rainwater from her brow, racing back towards the interior of the Crystarium. Reaching the balcony at the same moment as the twins, she shields her eyes, peering up at the winged monstrosities barreling towards them.

The flashes of power that greet the attempted assault are strangely satisfying, the air charged with aether and the promise of safety.

“Excellent. The barrier is holding.”

And yet…something continues to worry at the edges of her thoughts, a flitting shadow she can’t quite focus on. Something that’s felt amiss since the moment she awoke.

Alisaie’s voice is significantly less satisfied than her brother’s. “That’s good news for the Crystarium, but what of the rest of Lakeland?”

Vieryne looks down at the guard taking up their defensive positions near the bridge, and other strategic points along the barrier. Far fewer than she expected.

“Lyna and the city guard have taken to the field-”

The answer comes roaring out of the depths of her mind, of her soul, no longer evasive or unknown, drowning out the rest of Alphinaud’s words. Dimly she’s aware of someone shouting her name as she vaults over the railing, landing amidst the guard below with a crash, cracks forming in the stone beneath her feet.

The one hapless enough to be within arm’s reach looks like he might faint as she grabs him by the collar and drags him close.

“ _Where are your comrades?”_ The mystel man swallows hard at her snarl, pointing a shaky finger out into the rain-fogged night.

“C-captain Lyna said…they would make for the Round f-first…press…press on to the Imperative…”

She releases him with a shove, dashing across the bridge, heedless of the shouts and footsteps running after her. Her blood burns white-hot, searing through her with a single, unshakeable imperative.

_Find him._

*****

This wasn’t the end he’d hoped for.

Perhaps the one he always knew would come, but of late he’d found himself hoping for something better. And he wasn’t the only one who’d begun talking about the future in less uncertain tones; her presence had that effect on people.

He allows himself the faintest of smiles as he takes advantage of the wet ground, sliding under the sin eater’s massive arm and bringing his shield up to thwart the slashing claws. White ichor splashes the length of his blade as he severs the creature’s head with a clean strike, joining the traces that already stain it.

Far too much of which comes from ones who bled crimson not so long ago.

Chevaliorne gives a brief nod over his shoulder to his comrade on the ground, who simply nods wearily in return as they regain their footing. No time for celebrations of lives saved, for the staying of death was often all too brief.

They had brought reinforcements, but in so doing, bolstered the eaters numbers as well. Time and fortune alike cast their favors against the forces of the Crystarium this night.

A strained shout goes out as another group of pale-skinned horrors surge forward up the hill, even as they still struggle to hold their own against the last wave.

He cleaves through one of the smaller ones, ducks and weaves around its larger companion before his blade finds its mark there as well. The seconds drag by like bells.

The sound of a pained cry behind him draws his attention, as another of his comrades is flung to the ground, their assailant hovering for the killing blow. He turns, intent on intervention once more.

So intent, in fact, that it isn’t until he’s knocked off his feet that he sees the larger eater coming at him from the side.

The world spins and blurs before coming back into focus with the abrupt pain of his body colliding with the stone wall. His ears are ringing, and his breath refuses to return. The rain continues to soak through his armor and plasters his hair to the side of his face, blood and dirt running over his cheeks. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the sin eater advancing, the immovable, flawless mask of its face devoid of emotion as it towers over him.

The pale blade rises towards the heavens. He manages to lift his shield in what he knows will be a futile effort. A chilling shriek splits the night air, carrying over the cacophony of the battle.

There’s a tiny break in the cloud cover, and he smiles. At the very least, he will die under the stars.

The blade falls, and everything disappears in a swirl of darkness.

When the darkness recedes, he isn’t sure who finds it more of a shock; himself, or the sin eater.

It’s almost comical, the way the beast turns its head slowly to look at the glittering motes of light escaping from the stump where its wing was, then to the deep gash on its shoulder, where wisps of shadowy violet aether still cling.

Another ear-splitting scream, and this time the darkness erupts through the creature’s chest, the wide blade rending pale flesh apart as it forces its way through. It erupts into a shower of tiny, flickering lights that mock the stars for a brief moment before fading away.

He stares blearily up at her, his senses slowly coming to grip with the reality of the rain still beating down on them both. With the way her ivory hair is soaked, clinging to the scales on her face, and how her shoulders heave with each breath she fights for, the tip of her sword resting on the ground in front of him, both of her hands still wrapped around the hilt. Her eyes burn into him for a moment before she heaves the weapon onto her shoulder again, whipping around to slash at another eater that dares try and advance on her from behind.

Her friends are there too; he can see the flashes of aether and the renewed cries of battle. His attempts to struggle to his feet only merit him more pain, and the world swims and threatens to drop him into oblivion.

In the end, he can only slump against the wall and watch as the heroes turn the tide.

His eyes drift closed for what feels like only a moment, but when he opens them again, the air is once again still save for the rain.

A heavy thud startles him as her sword falls into the mud, slipped from nerveless fingers as she stands over him, trembling. Her breathing is still fast and heavy, and the look in her eyes will surely haunt him for the rest of his days. Her lips twitch slightly, as if unsure what expression she means to settle on.

He smiles up at her weakly. “I had hoped to give you occasion…to show that splendid smile when next we met…”

A choked sob rips from her throat, and it’s hard to say for sure, but it seems like there’s more than rainwater streaming down her face as she falls to her knees next to him.

Though it comes with a good deal of pain, he reaches out to brush his thumb across her cheek.

“My friend…”

It isn’t the right word, not really; it never has been. It doesn’t hold everything he means, everything he feels, has felt from the moment he saw her. Everything he tries to put in his voice, in his eyes, in his touch.

She takes a deep, shaky breath, covering his hand with hers for a moment before she throws herself forward, wrapping her arms around him.

The protests from his wounds and the chill of the rain are nothing compared to the warmth that floods through him, the absolute peace that comes with her embrace.

And when she draws back just enough to press her lips to his, he's never been so happy to have cheated death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was extremely tempted to cut this off at an earlier point and make it a cliffhanger, but...I'll be nice this time. xD


	5. Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality is as we perceive it. When one can no longer trust one's perception, things break down...

It’s cold. _It’s raining_.

The wind whistles past her; at this height, the air is never still, and the chill bites into her bones despite cloth, armor, and scales. _It soaks through armor and clothes alike, slicking over her scales, making every step all the more treacherous, but she can’t stop now._ It stings her lungs as she runs, having barely had a moment to recover from the last battle. She strains against the movement of her legs, every fiber of her being screaming at her to stop, to turn. _She can’t stop, no matter what._

_She can’t be too late._ It’s always too late.

The shield raised – _the sword falling –_ the heart-wrenching crack of metal – _crimson stains on pale skin_ – her own scream, shrill and unrecognizable – _his smile, faint and fading from dark brown –_ crystal blue eyes – _the white-hot lance of rage –_ the agonizing, piercing realization – _crushing her chest –_ sapping her strength – _sinking to her knees –_ vision blurring – _stinging her eyes_ –

He’s gone.

_He’s here._

Cracks branch madly through reality, and she throws her arms over her head, falling prone as everything shatters like glass, leaving her alone in the void.

_Never alone._

A hand appears in front of her face as she looks up. Her own form smiles wryly down at her, points of crimson aether burning deep within her eyes. She reaches out, clasps her own forearm, and pulls herself to her feet – but there are lines in her skin. Tiny white fissures, glowing as they spread, faster and faster. A last fleeting glimpse of terror in the aether-filled eyes before she explodes into blinding, searing Light.

*****

It’s a painfully slow struggle to claw her way back to consciousness despite the abrupt end to her dreams. Scales scrape against one another as she shifts her head slightly from where she had it resting on her arm, feeling something moving gently through her hair, soothing strokes accompanied by a soft, indistinct voice. She lets it continue for a few moments, drinking in the relative serenity before she opens her eyes, straightening up in her chair. Her back protests slightly; how long was she asleep?

Chevaliorne smiles fondly at her, letting her hair slip from his fingers as she sits up, his hand falling back to rest on the bed where her head had just been.

“Troubled dreams, my friend?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “I…don’t recall.”

“You were whimpering.”

“I do not _whimper_.” She folds her arms over her chest, glaring at him for a moment as heat rushes to her cheeks. It’s hard to stay focused on her indignation, looking over the bandages that embrace his torso, and the bruising they don’t quite cover. She bites her lip, cold fear welling up again; if she’d been a moment slower, gotten held up for just a second in the wrong place…

“My mistake,” he acquiesces mildly. He pats the bedclothes beside him, shifting himself to the side a little. “You would rest easier in a real bed, don’t you think?”

She purses her lips slightly, a smile tugging at them despite herself. “I _have_ a bed, in the Pendants, thank you. Besides, your wounds-”

“Would fare much better with the warmth of a hero’s splendid figure pressed against them.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively, and she can’t help but return his playful grin before shaking her head ruefully, trying to ignore the heated spark that leaps to life with the idea.

“Chessamile would never let me hear the end of it if she caught me.”

He laughs softly. “My friend, you could stroll through the Crystarium in nothing more than you possessed on your nameday, and not a soul would have a moment’s thought of chastising you after all you have done for us.” He sits up a little, leaning towards her, his eyes sparkling. “And should you desire to test that claim, you have my _wholly_ enthusiastic support.”

“Your _wholly_ inappropriate tendency to jest remains unharmed, I see,” she huffs, pressing gently on his shoulder, forcing him to lay back again. “You are the one in need of rest, Val. I would only disturb you.”

He catches her wrist before she can pull it away, and she’s now keenly aware of how far over she’s leaning; one knee on the mattress, the chair entirely abandoned, it would take only a slight tug to upset her balance, to force her to crawl further onto the bed.

“Disturb? Never,” he murmurs, bringing her hand to his lips, brushing them gently over the back of her knuckles. “Though I can think of a great many other words to express all manner of things you might do.” He turns her hand over, pressing another tender kiss to her palm. “Inspire.” He moves down to her wrist, sealing his lips over her pulse. “Beguile.”

She could easily escape his loose grip. Instead she shifts forward, allowing him to draw her closer, mesmerized by the husky timbre of his voice, and the thrill that jolts through her blood, the still-smoldering spark flaring with every kiss, every word.

His hair is emerald and deep forest shadows in the dim lamplight, falling over his pale skin, all too reminiscent of evergreen standing resolute against frigid hills.

“Fascinate.” Another searing press of his lips to the inside of her forearm. His other hand slides around to the back of her neck, pulling her down next to him. She forgets to fight it once again, stretching out on her side, and his mouth finds the vulnerable place near her collarbone. “Entice.” The heat of the breathy whisper against her scales makes her shiver.

His hand slips around to the base of her horn, rubbing gently over the scales, and the shock of the unexpectedly intimate touch has her inhaling sharply, holding her breath as he follows the curve of it. It’s an intoxicating mix of sensation, to feel and _hear_ his touch at the same time, one that no one else ever dared, save –

He flicks his tongue across the tip of her nose.

She stares at him, unable to fully process what just happened.

“Exasperate.” His smug smirk is undimmed when she cuffs his ear lightly.

“Y-you…you! You are-” she sputters, pushing against his chest, telling herself the lack of force behind it is to spare his injuries.

“Impossible, I remember.” He nuzzles her cheek, draping his arm over her side before finally bringing his lips to meet hers. Despite his bravado, the touch is tender, his tongue just barely skimming across her lower lip; an invitation, a hope rather than a demand. It was painfully gentle –

_She smiles to herself as she feels weight settle on the mattress behind her._

_“Fancy meeting you here, my friend.” Lilting notes of amusement color his murmured greeting as he brushes the hair away from the back of her neck. “Did you perhaps take a wrong turn, or were the chambers provided not to your liking?” His lips are warm against her skin, and she revels in it for a moment before rolling over to face him._

_“Not to my liking at all.” She arches a brow, affecting her best impersonation of haughty disapproval._

_He tuts gently, failing to hide his smile as he attempts to play along. “We shall have to inform the Count at once. Pray, tell me what you require, that I might personally see to your comfort.”_

_“The bed is far too cold.” She slips an arm over his waist, pulling him closer. “And altogether lacking the presence of a certain Fortemps knight.”_

_“Simply unacceptable.” He lets out an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh, his hand sliding down her back, fingers toying with the hem of her loose shift. “I suppose I have no choice but to allow you the use of mine own quarters until your knight can be located for his new…post.”_

_She purses her lips, fighting a smile of her own. “Oh? These are yours? Here I thought I would be receiving Ser Artoirel…”_

_He huffs, and now it is his turn to pull her close, pressing their bodies together, the fit so perfect despite the difference in their statures. She can feel the warmth of him, growing harder through layers of thin fabric as he finds her mouth with his own._

_Even now, after having been joined again and again, his touch – both the physical and the dizzying embrace of his essence – is still achingly tender, never forceful in spite of his hunger, gently pleading instead of demanding –_

She pulls away from the kiss abruptly, fighting for breath, suddenly mindful of the way she’s pressing herself against him, molding herself to his form – _the fit so perfect._ Her chest tightens further, a surge of fear and guilt looming at – _the tender caress of his aether against hers, charged with hope and –_ the unmistakable, echoed longing for a union that has little – _everything and nothing_ – to do with flesh.

She closes her eyes again, but it only makes it worse. When she opens them, the world swims, and for an agonizing moment she can’t tell if the silken hair under her shaking fingers is silver or viridian, and the eyes that stare at her, brimming with concern, flash quickly between brown and blue.

If the blood on his lips is real or –

“Vieryne.”

She all but jumps out of her skin, hastily pushing herself back, ungracefully stumbling to her feet at the low voice sounding from behind her. Thancred’s face is impassive, impossible to read as he crosses his arms. His glance flicks over to the bed only briefly before he meets her eyes.

“We need you in the Ocular. Ryne has…an idea. About Amh Araeng.”

The bitter note in his voice tells her all she needs to know about what that idea might be. She can’t bring herself to look back as she strides from the infirmary.

She knows but a fraction of the aching sorrow that haunts her steps is her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really nervous about the style of this one.
> 
> *yeets it at all of you anyway*
> 
> Fun fact, the working title for this chapter was Smut: Interrupted.
> 
> >_>
> 
> _sorry not sorry_


	6. We Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The closest of bonds leave you the most open, the most vulnerable. To fear them is common sense and yet we plunge headlong into the danger time and again.
> 
> Safety and suffering, risk and pain. A knife's edge- if gravity demands it, which way does one fall?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wicked white, it's been way too long for this chapter to get done. I feel awful because I love this story so much. ;w; But I promise I'm still here, and it *will* be finished, dammit.
> 
> Eventually. >_<
> 
> Anyway, here's a little reprieve from the pain...or is it?

She'd never been so unfocused in all her life.

She was sure Haurchefant was saying something important about the High Houses and the Stone Vigil, about letters of introduction, but the words were merely background noise to the way his lips moved, and the memory of how they'd felt pressed against hers, so suddenly and so briefly but a few days ago.

His prize, he'd declared with a smile that dazzled and infuriated all at once, for finally catching her off guard during the sparring he had insisted on- something about testing his skills against those of a veteran adventurer. A flimsy pretense at best, but it was so damned hard not to play along.

She couldn't afford to let this man distract her. Too much was at stake, as always, and there was no time to give in to the wonderful, frightening feeling that had struck her with all the force of a physical blow the first moment she'd walked through the doors.

To every Azim a Nhaama, the Oronir would say. The other clans had their own ways of saying it, and even here in Eorzea, they called it by many names, though there was one that seemed more prevalent that the others.

Soulmate.

Foolish nonsense, folk tales for children and starry-eyed maidens sighing in their bedchambers, she'd thought.

And yet...

Vieryne watched him remove his gloves to sign the parchment, and dreaded the moment that fast approached, when he finished speaking and she'd have to turn towards the doors and step outside; it had nothing to do with the cold, and everything with how her aether _pulled_ , restless and yearning, towards pale blue eyes and silver hair, to those lips and arms and _his_ aether, bright and warm-

The words stopped abruptly, and she was startled by how close he'd managed to get without her noticing- she hadn't even registered him leaving his chair. Surely he could hear her heart hammering against her chest. He leaned down towards her as she looked up, his voice soft but tight with restrained emotion.

“My friend...before you depart...truly I did give my oath I would not trespass against you as I did before, but...I would beg your leave to do so just once more.”

She nodded silently, not daring to test her own voice.

For a moment she was oddly amused at the way his expression shifted, like he'd just been offered water after crawling through the desert for days on end, before his hand cupped her cheek and she was lost again in the way his skin felt against her scales.

The heated press of his mouth against hers was much like his words; gentle, tentative, but backed by a thinly veiled urgency, bleeding through touch and aether alike. It was all she could do not to chase his lips when he stepped back.

“ _Fury_...this must be madness...to have you this close and then to let you slip away.” His fingers flexed slightly, as if he could bring her back to his grasp by his will alone.

Well. Not _just_ his.

“Then don't.” She matched his step back with one forward, banishing the unpleasant distance between them, grabbing the straps at the front of his armor. “Just for tonight...”

His eyes lit up as he wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to pull him closer, murmuring a hushed, hopeful whisper as their lips brushed again.

“We could...slowly...”

A too-polite cough from the corner suddenly reminded her they were still in the central chamber of the camp's command, and the center of a great deal of attention. Haurchefant gave no sign of having noticed or cared, his hands sliding down to her lower back, brushing against her tail. She shivered slightly at the sensation, and it seemed to encourage him, as he made a pleased hum against her mouth before running a hand down as much of it as he could reach.

“M'lord? Will you be adjourning to your quarters, or shall I organize some training exercises...outdoors?” Corentiaux's tone was dryly amused, and altogether unsurprised.

Haurchefant released her tail, huffing quietly as he drew back just enough to level a glare over her head towards his subordinate, though it quickly faded to a suggestive grin as he met her eyes again.

“Hm. Clearly our esteemed adventurer friend is shivering from...the cold. Yes. It would be an unforgivable stain to House Fortemps's honor to allow her to continue suffering when there is a warm be- _hearth_ nearby.”

She let out a soft yelp as she was unexpectedly lifted from the ground, his arms under her knees and back, cradling to her chest as he strode purposefully for the stairs.

“Do keep things in order while I see to her comfort, Corentiaux.”

The sounds of laughter and at least one exasperated sigh faded behind them, but he slowed only when he reached the heavy wooden door at the top of the stairs, ducking his head to whisper to her with a pleased smirk.

“Well, do you think they bought it?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Splendid. Then they'll know better than to dare interrupt.” A solid kick to the door sent it flying open, and another sent it slamming decisively closed behind them.

Vieryne didn't get a chance to take in much of the room before she landed on her back in the center of the large, soft bed. He was over her in an instant, his mouth finding hers like they never parted. And yet, in spite of it all, the touch of his tongue to her lips was hesitant, as if he still feared being turned away.

She parted for him at once, tangling her fingers in his hair. He rumbled appreciatively as he accepted the invitation, delving eagerly into her mouth, their tongues meeting in a clumsy, frantic dance. His hands were bolder still, taking the liberty of exploring over her hips, down to the short hem at the front of her coat, sliding over the top of her thighs. She shivered again as he pushed under the fabric, teasing along the edge of her smalls with a fingertip.

Laughter bubbled up unbidden, and he pulled back just enough to eye her curiously as she chuckled.

“Whatever happened to 'slowly', oh-so-impatient knight?”

His smile returned undiminished, and his fingers continued their journey, dipping dangerously close to a place that _ached_ for his touch.

“Did I say such a thing? I don't recall.”

“Allow me to recall it for you.” She brought her knee up between his legs, deliberately rubbing against the bulge straining against his leather pants, reveling in the low groan that escaped him as his eyes drifted closed for a moment. “As you said...'we could...slowly'...”

“A splendid memory in addition to your many other _enticing_ qualities, my friend.” His lips brushed over her cheek, to the base of her horn, kissing it gently. “I give you my word...were we not taking things slowly...”

He moved down to her neck, his tongue tracing a searing pattern over her pulse.

“...I would have torn every scrap of fabric from you ere we reached the stairs.” His eyes were burning as he looked up at her, blue fire dancing with sinful promises. “Claimed you right there for all the world to see...”

She canted her hips up towards him without even realizing it, and he took advantage of the opportunity to finally slip his fingers fully under her smalls, stroking her folds with every word as she tilted her head back and moaned.

“And all would know that you are _mine_. My heart, my soul...my love.”

The words shot like levin through her very aether, fire kindling in her blood, stoked by his careful touch; it left her breathless, her hands desperately seeking purchase against the cold rings of his armor.

She needed to see all of him, to _feel_ him before she went mad.

The surprised – and greatly intrigued – look on his face when she pushed him back with little effort would have been humorous if she hadn't been so focused on the task at hand; few bed-partners expected such strength from a mage. She very nearly growled when he caught her wrists, stopping her from seeking the buckles on his armor.

“Remind me, who was the impatient one?” He looked far too pleased with himself as he planted a kiss on her palm.

“Armor. Everything. Off. Now,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

Oh, she could have forsaken all the world for that wicked smirk of his.

“Perhaps we can strike an accord, my friend. I shall divest myself of these troublesome garments quickly for you, if you allow me to disrobe _you_ as well...in whatever manner I see fit.”

She huffed and pushed at his shoulders lightly. “Fine...just get to it.”

He left a brief, chaste kiss on the tip of her nose before practically bounding off the bed, giving her an exaggerated bow. She rolled her eyes with equally over-dramatic emphasis, failing to hide her smile as she laid down on her stomach, kicking her feet in the air behind her.

Swiftly as promised, the layers of armor and cloth began to fall away, hitting the stone floor with musical metallic sounds. She had intended to stay put and watch, perhaps to strike a pose, to look particularly alluring as additional motivation- but each newly exposed bit of skin was a siren's call, dragging her first to her knees, and then off the bed entirely to circle around him, completely mesmerized.

By the time he was down to only his leather pants, she couldn't resist any longer, sliding her hands over the planes of his back, tracing the lines of toned muscle and the occasional knotted scar. He chuckled softly at her explorations, but it did little to disguise the way he trembled under her touch, the movements to undo his lacings becoming rushed and clumsy.

She pressed herself against him, breathing in his scent. Sharp pine, worn leather, and just a hint of something earthy and sweet beneath it all; strangely new and yet comfortingly familiar all at once, like something she'd known all her life and merely forgotten until this moment.

Her hands slid around his waist to his stomach, gently nudging his arms away and taking over, pleased to find his work with the lacings finally complete. She let her fingertips dip momentarily under the leather, grazing over the soft fabric of his smalls just long enough to elicit a sharp inhale before retreating. Pressing warm kisses along his spine, she pushed both remaining garments down at once before wrapping her fingers around his freed arousal.

A tremor went through them both; for her part, it was entirely fueled by anticipation. She'd been with a variety of partners in her past, and his proportions were certainly on the larger side. Had she not already been slick from his earlier attentions, she definitely was now.

He allowed her a few experimental strokes before he spun around, kicking the discarded clothes away, grabbing her arms and pinning them to her sides as he kissed her, rough and hungry. Her tail lashed with languid satisfaction as she responded in kind, but all too soon he broke away.

Pulling her along with him, he backed towards the bed until he sat on the edge, leaving her standing between his legs; it put his face very near her chest, something that was clearly not lost on him as he took the top button of her coat in his teeth and _pulled_ , sending it flying off somewhere unknown.

He smirked up at her.

“My turn.”

Gripping the wide collar, he yanked hard, sending more buttons flying, exposing her shoulders and breasts. He left it bunched around her elbows, effectively trapping her arms against her sides again as she stared at him in bemused shock.

“Haurchefant!”

“However I see fit,” he murmured sing-song against the scales that trailed down over her collarbone before tracing the edges with his tongue. His path continued down, stopping to plant soft kisses or to nip gently at her skin, seemingly intent on tasting every inch of her. She let her head fall back slightly, pulse fluttering with the pleasant sensation.

“You do realize that if you insist on destroying my clothing, I won't be able to leave in the morning.”

“The thought had not crossed my mind at all.” He kissed a path between her breasts, his hands brushing teasingly around the soft curves. “We'd have to send to Ishgard for new garments...custom made, of course...only the finest materials...I'm afraid it could take several suns at least. And the storms can make even the shortest trip beyond the gates impassible at times...and all the while, you'd be trapped here in my chambers. Truly a tragedy.”

Haurchefant looked up, one last kiss left in the center of her chest. His gaze didn't stray from hers for even a moment as he ripped the fitted coat the rest of the way open, tossing the ruined cloth to the side.

“How terribly clumsy of me.”

“You are-” She inhaled sharply as he bent his head to her breasts once more, tongue circling around her taut nipples, one after the other. His fingers hooked under her smalls, tracing around to the ties at the sides, loosing them with one quick motion. Caressing the path of scales that led down from her hips, he stopped briefly at the top of her tall boots, seeming to consider them for a moment before his fingertips danced lightly back up her inner thighs, making her shiver again.

“Yes?” His look of innocence was ruined by the smug grin, eyes sparkling with self-satisfied amusement.

“Impossible,” she sighed as she cupped his face, tilting it up to meet her lips, covering her desperation to taste him again with feigned exasperation. Swallowing his soft chuckle, she pressed closer, climbing onto the edge of the bed to straddle his lap, hands sliding down to clutch his shoulders. Everything in her that could feel _ached_ for him, thrilling to the press of his firm length against her abdomen, the way he groaned into the kiss as she ground herself against him, their combined arousal easing the friction of skin against scales.

So close; all she had to do was lift herself slightly and then-

“Wait, please.” He broke away from her lips, gripping her hips firmly, stopping her just as the tip of him brushed against her folds. She bit back a frustrated growl, resting her forehead against his, but stilled herself despite the clamoring protests from her body, her very soul.

“I fear once we join, I...I will not have any wit left about me. Before I most gladly surrender...I would truly _see_ the woman behind the warrior.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he released his hold on her, fingers stroking along the curve of her horns, through her hair, over her shoulders. It almost hurt to hold his gaze, piercing and penetrating.

“You attempt to hold the mask even now, my friend...let me watch you cast it aside.” His hands drifted further still, and again she felt his fingers sliding across the heat of her core, this time with tentative, pleading strokes. “Lose yourself for me.”

Fear tightened her chest even as his touch inflamed her desire even further. She never truly put aside her role for anyone; the Warrior of Light, the fate of Eorzea came first, didn't it? Even before her...her...

_Soulmate._

“For you...aye...”

Her trembled whisper broke against the rush of pleasure, like levin through her blood, as the first of his long, clever digits slipped inside her in tandem with his lips finding her breast again, tongue swirling ecstatic patterns over the tight peak.

It was difficult to fight the old habits of stifling her cries, of averting her eyes, and instead push all thought aside and just _feel_ as he added another finger, and another, pulling them in and out with delicious purpose. She would swear he knew her body as well as she did, dragging his touch over the secret places that had her hips jerking forward in spite of herself, grinding against him. He continued worshiping her chest with his lips and tongue, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on her face with an expression that mixed awe and adoration, thrilling and bewildering her.

His thumb slid over her swollen clit, and she cried out wordlessly, her nails digging into his shoulders so hard she felt a momentary pang of guilt. But he only smiled against her skin, and continued to rub in tight, firm circles, leaving her rutting even more frantically against his hand.

“You are... _truly splendid_...my heart...my everything...”

She could feel his aether, wrapping around her without a trace of hesitation, warm and bright. That he could leave his life, his _soul_ so vulnerable; that he embraced her very essence with such certainty...such _love_...

It took her apart as surely as his touch, and tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she cried out his name, clenching and throbbing around his fingers as her aether welcomed his.

Rich brown suffused and swirled with orange-gold, mixing and melting, fire meeting earth. Inexorable, unstoppable as molten rock. All-encompassing. All-consuming.

There could be no more waiting. He'd scarcely withdrawn his fingers from her when she pushed him down onto his back, and this time when he gripped her hips, it was only to steady her as she sank slowly onto him, their moans indistinguishable from each other.

Vieryne had a brief, wild confusion as to how she'd ever found pleasure in any other lovers before now, with the way he stretched and filled her, as if they'd been perfectly crafted for each other's needs. He hissed out a grateful curse to the Fury, his hips pushing up to meet her descent.

Time fell away, unnoticed. Every movement, every sensation was amplified and echoed and overwhelming, yet somehow secondary to the ripples of aether, pulsing as a twin heartbeat, setting a rhythm their bodies could not help but follow. It built slowly to a crescendo, no words left to either of them but the other's name, surrendering to a bliss that did not fade upon its crest, but only built, higher and higher-

Sweat soaks the sheets as she sits bolt upright, struggling for breath. The room is still and empty, mocking the fading sensation of warm touches upon her skin. Her eyes find the open window, the clouded night sky; it blurs as tears sting the edges of her vision. The faint sounds of the Crystarium prickle along her horns.

Of course her own Echo would choose to torment her now. The lingering feelings recede, succumbing to the faint haze of numbness that has settled on her since that afternoon, the only balm against the sudden, soul-splintering pain that threatens to overwhelm her at seemingly random intervals.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she tests her balance for a moment before standing, her limbs trembling. She tells herself it's because of the chill of the room, her thin tunic clinging damply to her form. Stumbling slightly, she leans against the table, scowling as her unsteady pouring splashes water over the edge of the cup.

Her eyes wander to the door as she sits, savoring the way the sips of water soothe over her hoarse throat.

If she tries very hard, she can almost not feel the ripples of fear. Desire. Devotion. Hurt.

She watches the door and waits. The emotions slip in despite her best, exhausted efforts. Closer now, louder. More insistent.

The soft, urgent knock finds her with bated breath, on a precipice of indecision. To move is to fall. To stay still is to suffer.

She plummets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of me feels bad about the 'dream' tease, but it is what it is. xD
> 
> Very excited about the next couple chapters! ...just need to not take 6 months to get them up. /dead
> 
> Also yes, the tense change is very intentional, apologies if it throws anyone off! And I know that Camp Dragonhead's main building doesn't have a second floor that's accessible from where Haurchefant's desk is, but I think that's silly, so I renovated. :3 Whee!

**Author's Note:**

> I've never put much thought into Haurchefant, but since joining [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic), my horizons have been infinitely expanded. xD
> 
> In other words, the Discord made me do it. ;P (And much love and thanks to everyone for it!)
> 
> This can be considered an AU from Her Worldly Delights, and definitely not canon within that story, heh. Just another potential path the Warrior of Light could have taken.


End file.
